Bang on cue, as if to remind me that it’s as well I a) glean some kind of job satisfacation outside of the minimal amount proffered by writing and b) am not entirely responsible for putting all the bread on this particular family’s table, I receive another rejection. Of sorts.
In September I entered a memoir writing competition at Kingston University. In October, oh joy, my manuscript Refugees of Empire was amongst 15 short listed. http://fass.kingston.ac.uk/KUP/competition/shortlist/index.shtml
Today I discovered that mine was amongst the five that didn’t get a final mention. That means no winnings (useful for school fees) and no chance of publication (useful for school fees, and when feigning to be a writer).
I’d like to be able to tell myself the subject matter wasn’t sufficiently PC, how could it be: I’m the progeny of bloodycolonials, I’d like to believe a publisher wouldn’t dare take my story on board but alas I fear that it’s a merely a question of the manuscript lacking merit.
No matter.
Onwards.
No point in calling yourself a writer if you can’t take rejection firmly on the chin; it’s par for the course, after all.
But just as well I hadn’t given up the day job eh?
Reluctant Memsahib 
December 11, 2007 at 4:42 pm |
Frederick Forsyth and J.K. Rowling both racked up their fair share of rejection letters. It’s a badge of honor, really.
December 11, 2007 at 8:48 pm |
What he said.